


50% extended time

by orphan_account



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Trans, Caspar Has A Quiet Kink, Developing Relationship, Library Sex, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, References to anxiety, Touch-Starved Linhardt von Hevring, Trans Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-15 02:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21245702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This story is part of the LLF Comment Project (including the LLF Comment Builder), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:Short commentsLong commentsQuestions“<3” as extra kudosReader-reader interactionThis author replies to comments.





	50% extended time

Caspar preferred the library after hours.

None of the regulars asked him odd questions catering to their esoteric hobbies (or judged him when he offered no worthwhile import).

None of the seniors asked him how to log into their email accounts or complained about printing costs or accosted him about how his generation didn’t stop staring at their phones.

More importantly, after the staff trickled out, that left himself, Linhardt and Ashe alone, and that’s how he wanted it.

He’d started spending inordinate amounts of time in the janky basement restroom fantasizing about shutting the lights off in the silent reading room, the three of them fucking on the rough-hewn rug in front of a roaring fire. He’d talked with Linhardt about how the suffocating, oppressive, smothering quiet of the reading room drove him up the wall with a maddening craving. He wanted to fuck with the boundaries of silence, to marvel in the fluctuation found in disciplining the sounds of their desires.

Linhardt had smirked, almost as though he had bided his time waiting for this stunning revelation.

Clucking to himself at the memory, Caspar twisted the knob on the Staff Only door, uttering a befuddled “Huh” when the lock didn’t budge.

Fetching his newly acquired staffroom key from his lanyard, Caspar twisted the knob, the tell-tale ka-chak  mingling with the sound of a hissing gasp.

Skidding against the edge of the door, Caspar leaned his forehead against the chipped painted paneling, breathing hard. Someone gasped again, muffled, probably into their palm, and Caspar heard a shredded  “_Fuck_,”  all the more attractive from a notoriously good mouth.

“Fuck me with your mouth, Lin. Goddess, do what you  _ want _ .”

Gnawing at the rim of his left palm, slowly easing the door open with his right hand, Caspar surrendered to the sensation of sinking beneath the accumulated weight of his desires.

He stopped dead, staring at Ashe, scarlet up his neck, his reddened ass scraping the cluttered desk usually crammed with books on hold, half of his form-fitting shirt hanging open.

On his knees, hands massaging the canvas of Ashe’s thighs, Linhardt fucked him open, his tongue smoothing down the shaven goosebumps of Ashe’s sex before edging up, sliding and slurping down the dripping heat within.

Immediately, not without surprise at himself, Caspar wanted to flee. This was beyond intimate. Linhardt had shared his desires with him, and he remembered the both of them planning to make them known to Ashe, but sometimes circumstances arose out of their control and inhibitions intervened. He didn’t blame Linhardt, not one bit. He’d wanted in on this, sure, but in time, he’d open himself up to Ashe and maybe in an off-handed, non-confrontational way, bring up that one time he’d walked in on Linhardt eating him out.

And then what?

Turning, rubbing his thumb against the edge of the knob, he froze when Linhardt said, “You’re still hopeless at hiding, Caspar.” 

Irreverently, keeping his gaze low to the ground as he crossed the threshold, Caspar considered just how much he’d ignored the deliberate aspects of this tableau.

Sighing out a long, ponderous breath, he leaned against the door, effectively locking them in.

“Fuck me.”

Meeting Linhardt’s sobering stare, he smiled.

“Oops?”

Doubtless one of the library’s beloved janitors would come around soon enough to complete their nocturnal inspection.

Crafting the illusion of no escape options was much more fun than anticipating an unwelcome visitor.

Getting to his feet, Linhardt said, “Help me help this one.”

They settled Ashe on the ground between them, head resting against Caspar’s chest, bent legs pressing on Linhardt’s thighs, bare feet nudging Linhardt’s stomach. 

Smoothing Ashe’s hair from his forehead, funneling the soft, dampened strands between his fingers, Caspar gazed into his eyes, saying, “Doing okay?”

Swiping his tongue against his bottom lip, Ashe blinked slowly and said, “Would you think of me any differently if I told you we’d planned this? I did, mostly. And that’s not purely hypothetical. Am I rambling? Dear Goddess, I’m rambling again.”

Gently caressing the fingers of his right hand up Ashe’s right leg, under the frayed edges of Ashe’s faded jeans, Linhardt said, “He gets it.”

Something dense, trembling and packed with adoration, moved through Caspar’s chest. This tenderness, this depth of tactile communication, was not something Linhardt showed freely, carelessly, with no thought of the immediate aftermath. 

His caring for Ashe, then, had blossomed, manifesting as a yearning to engage in the language of meaningful gestures apart from fucking. 

The implications of this choice were staggering. Caspar wanted to sing, his heart seizing. The desperation of which Linhardt so often spoke, of craving the warmth he dearly missed when Caspar wasn’t home, or when he needed the press of warm palms against his heart, the clench of fingers grasping for any tangible, pulsing sensation within reach...

Now that Ashe had found them, Linhardt’s craving would vanish, and in its wake he would find a reassuring, full-body embrace.

He would no longer reach out in the night to find Caspar gone, himself working through imaginary scenarios that didn’t matter in real time and yet prevented him from turning his brain off in bed.

Now Ashe would be there, wanting, arms draped against their pillows.

He’d hoped to the Goddess something might come of this. Now was the time to act.

“Want to head home, Ashe?” he said, briefly meeting Linhardt’s gaze as the words came out.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project (including the LLF Comment Builder), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:  
Short comments  
Long comments  
Questions  
“<3” as extra kudos  
Reader-reader interaction  
This author replies to comments.


End file.
